Will Tomorrow Ever Come
by iwonderandiwander
Summary: Life is tough. It's even tougher when you've got depression and anxiety. And working at the most stressful place on earth doesn't help things either. How do you save others when you can't save yourself? Rated M for graphic descriptions of suicidal thoughts, self harm, etc. If any of this is potentially triggering please don't read.


Jenny was not well off. She was barely off of the streets – thanks only to her employment at Fazbear's. It was the only place desperate enough for help to accept a college dropout, so she jumped at the opportunity. Instead of homeless unemployment, Jenny is now a strange mixture of janitor, repairman, and night guard. Kind of random, but she's not picky. Whatever keeps her off of the streets. The uniform's a bitch, though. Scratchy and smells like a high school locker room. At least it's purple instead of yellow, like the waiters' uniforms. She sighs and brushes a stray hair out of her face. Time to face the music. She steps into the double doors that are the entrance to her workplace/hellish nightmare.

Janitoring is easy, repairing is fun, but as for night guard… It's good that Jenny is some tough shit. Right now, though, it's time to clean up before her guard shift starts. She pushes open the glass door, smudged with dozens of tiny handprints, and relieves the day guard on shift, Jeremy. He's a nice guy, but really jumpy. Jenny has no idea how he could've been a night guard, but supposes that maybe that's what it turns you into: a terrified mess. She fetches a broom from the janitor's closet and begins her nightly routine, singing quietly as she does.

After sweeping, she mops, then cleans the tables, bathrooms, and the windows. She finishes wiping down the glass and checks the time.10:43. Huh. Early today. Of course, she has been getting quicker. Jenny goes over to the animatronics who are on standby and suppresses a shiver, pondering for a moment. Sure, she's done simple repair jobs around the pizzeria before, but never on one of them. That being said… It really had been bothering her and she could get a raise for it… Well, why not?

She's going to clean the deathtraps. She gave up on avoiding them weeks ago. Decided, she puts on her gloves with a snap and starts with Chica. "Hey there, Chica." Jenny murmurs. "I'm going to clean you up, so please don't bite my hand off." With just a moment of hesitation, she digs around through their mouth and pulls out miscellaneous trash and half decayed food. It smells like the time the sewage got backed up in the men's bathroom. With a grimace, she dumps it in her trash sack. "I wish the kids wouldn't take the 'let's eat' bib so seriously," she mutters. "All this buildup must really mess up your jaw." Jenny disinfects Chica's mouth for good measure. She spends the next fifteen minutes cleaning the florescent yellow fur until it's obnoxiously bright. At least now maybe Jenny'll be able to see the chicken coming in the dark.

Chuckling at the thought, she looks at her watch. 11:26. Not enough time to start on Bonnie. Jenny makes a mental note to bring new guitar strings for them as she heads to her office. She takes inventory as she sits down in the chair. Creepy cupcake's there today. Weak-ass fan still in place. Phone still in one piece. Obligatory company poster. Glad to see her shitty office in one piece, Jenny settles in for the night. She wipes some of the sweat from her face and takes off the hideous purple shirt, now only wearing her tank top. Company rules say you have to wear uniform at all times, but there's no camera in her office, so no one could say otherwise. She takes off her hat to use as a fan. The fan on the desk was just for decoration. It can't cool for shit, which is why she ended up unplugging the damn thing. It drains power anyway. Jenny stretches with a sigh, as it's 11:30. She's still got time.

Bored, she takes out the newspaper from 1987 she found on her sixth night. She's been trying to find out more about the bite, but everything's been vague. The company must have paid some serious hush money. Maybe that's why the place is so run down now. Can't afford clean bathrooms when all your money goes to lawsuits. Might as well read it again, see if she missed anything. Paragraph after paragraph of carefully worded statements, but nothing that sticks out. Oh well.

Jenny sets the paper down with a huff, wiping the now cooled sweat from her forehead. A few moments pass and the city power cuts off with the familiar blare of the alarm. Her heart picks up a bit before settling back down to its usual pace. She's on her shift now. Reflex kicks in and she checks the cameras. Everyone's in their places for the moment. It won't last though, never does. She sets the tablet down and fidgets in the seat. It creaks with the movement. Jenny checks the cameras again. Bonnie's in the party room, first to move, as per norm. Just to be careful, she checks pirate's cove. Curtain's open. "Dammit!" she hisses, slamming down on the left door button just as rapid footfalls drew near.

The sound of Foxy banging on the door makes Jenny jump. She realizes that she's holding her breath and inhales shakily. Her ears can't hear much over the sound of her heartbeat. "It's okay. You're okay. Focus." she tells herself firmly. Once the pounding goes away, she opens the door again. It's not even one and she's down to 89%. She has to be more careful. Shaking her head, she checks the other door. Empty. Good. Absentmindedly rubbing her neck, she checks the cameras for movement.

Chica's in the kitchen, Bonnie's in the supply closet and– Jenny jerks away from the tablet with a cry. Freddy's black eyes stare up at her from the backstage cam. 'I HATE it when he does that.' Jenny screeches internally. "VERY FUNNY, FAZBEAR." Jenny shouts. Jenny checks on Chica and Bonnie for good measure. Chica's in the hallway. Bonnie's gone.

"Here comes Peter Cottontail~" she murmurs in a singsong voice. Left light. The familiar purple faced rabbit stares blankly. Jenny slams the door button with a sigh. "Not now, Bonnie." she mutters. Jenny checks the cameras.

Freddy's in the hallway. Bonnie's back in the supply closet. Chica's nowhere. Jenny opens the left door and turns on the right light. The familiar slack jawed chicken greets her with a screech. Jenny closes the door. "We've talked about this, Chica. I need you to knock first." Jenny tells her sternly through the window. Instead of running off like she normally does, Chica has a paper in her hands– wings? Whatever. Jenny glances at the open door before leaning in closer to observe it. There's a large yellow blob next to a purple blob. Jenny assumes that it's her and Chica. Scribbled down in crayon are the words "thank yu fer cleenin mee."

Despite the horrific misspellings, Jenny can't help but smile through the fear. She's a gigantic softie. Forget the fact that the one who made it is a six foot animatronic death trap. It's still sweet. "It's wonderful. You're welcome, Chica." Jenny smiles tentatively. Chica squawks, banging the picture against the window. Jenny jumps as Chica runs off into the dark. Out of reflex she opens the right door again. The pictures stuck to the window now by a piece of tape. It's oddly sweet. Somewhat shaken, she returns to her duties. 32% left. Thankfully, another animatronic didn't sneak up on her while she was… talking… with Chica. She checks the cameras once more, but her brow creases in confusion. Freddy, Chica, and Bonnie are on stage? And Foxy is behind the curtain? Jenny checks the time, 4:51, still an hour left. What are they doing? They never all stop trying at once.

Jenny feels her paranoia intensify as she sets the tablet down. Why would they just… stop? She's been here for two months now and they haven't gone easy on her before. Unnerved, Jenny checks again. Everyone's still in the same places. What's going on here? Jenny can feel her breathing becoming shallow. She brings herself back to deep breaths before she can have a panic attack. Then she slaps herself. Hard. "Suck it up," she tells herself firmly. "You are not allowed to freak out." With her heart rate still doing somersaults, she checks the tablet again. Nothing.

Except– nope, not even a head turn.

Jenny sets down the tablet and leans back in her chair. She needs to get a normal job that doesn't involve almost dying all the time. Maybe a 9 to 5 or something. But no, no one wants to hire someone with all her problems, but she did have a decent paying job with which she could actually afford to fix her problems. With a sigh, she shakes her head and decides to wait. With it quiet like this Jenny gets to actually listen to her office for the first time. There's the whirr of the horribly outdated AC.

She's got several papers on her desk, but none of them with anything interesting. The florescent bulb above her desk hums quietly with the buzz of electricity. It's surprisingly peaceful. Jenny's never been able to appreciate it before, but still, she needs to check the cameras. And, they haven't moved. Jenny sets it down with a clang and rubs her eyes tiredly. This job is going to give her gray hairs while she's 19. Just as she's about to go out and ask the animatronics why they aren't coming for her, she hears the bell that signals the end of the shift. "Thank fuck," she mutters, putting her uniform back on. Before she leaves, she remembers the picture and carefully takes it down. Jenny holds it tenderly in her hands. As she heads out into the party area, she sees the animatronics lined up on stage. Ready for another day, as always.

Jenny rubs the back of her neck as she looks at them. "Uh, thanks for - ya know - not stuffing me into a suit or anything, and for the picture, Chica. I really appreciate it." she says awkwardly. The animatronics don't give any sign of acknowledgement. Feeling increasingly embarrassed with each moment, Jenny turns to go. She hesitates at the door, her fingers resting on the handle. With a backwards glance to the animatronics, she bites her lip. "Uh, I'll see you all tonight, I guess…" she says quietly. "Bye."

Jenny walks briskly out the door, passing Mike (other day guard) along the way. He looks at her oddly. She nods once to him, but keeps moving. Her cheeks are burning. What was she thinking?! 'Oh let's just chat with the same fucking robots that try to kill me each night! It'll be fun!' They were probably just trying to play head games with her anyway. It's not like they – or anyone else for that matter – actually cared about her. Pushing her bitter thoughts aside she heads toward home. As she walks to her shitty apartment in the light of dawn, Jenny fails to notice that her shirt's inside out.

Jenny wakes up early that afternoon.

She wishes she had slept longer, but it's not like she really has a life outside of her jobs right now. All her free time is taken up by her job, stuff related to her job, mental health issues, and sleep, so no time to relax. Jenny stretches in her bed before getting her pants on. Hey, they're uncomfortable to sleep in. She shakes her head to wake up before heading to the cramped kitchen where she keeps what meager food she has on hand. Her bare feet pad along the squeaky linoleum floor as she fetches the coffee grounds from a shelf. As she opens the cabinet, the door falls off of its hinges with a metallic groan. Jenny stares at the piece of wood in her hand and sighs deeply. Add that to the growing list of things she's fucked up.

Unable to deal with it right now, she retrieves the coffee grounds and starts a pot of coffee. It's kind of embarrassing to realize that her coffeemaker is her most prized possession at the moment. The thought actually brings on a pang of sadness. Is this really all she has? Jenny stares down at the well worn machine surrounded by papers and boxes of things still unpacked. She turns around to see the rest of her apartment and sees nothing else worth having. This is her life now. All that matters is the thing that keeps you going. Like her bla– "No." Jenny tells herself firmly, her soft voice loud in the silent room. "No…" The desire wells up within her nonetheless. She pushes it down relentlessly; she can deal with that later.

Jenny shakes her head as if to rid herself of the dark feelings. She really needs a cup of coffee. Jenny fetches herself one of her three glasses. She doesn't really have guests over, so the extra glasses just give her the variety of choice, instead of actually serving a purpose. Setting the cup next to the now-brewing pot, she leans against the counter with a sigh. For some reason she thinks of something phone guy mention on her second– third? night. 'Smile! You are the face of Freddy Fazbear's Pizza.' Jenny's face doesn't slip out of it's near-permanent grimace. She hasn't actually smiled a lot in a long time. Polite smiles have been increasingly common lately, but genuine ones are hard to come by.

'Depression's a bitch,' Jenny thinks tiredly. The gurgling of the coffeemaker as it finishes brings Jenny out of her head. She pours herself a cup and mixes in the cheap powder creamer that she hates. Stirring in several spoonfuls of sugar, she takes her coffee and returns to her bed. The linoleum doesn't squeak on her way out.

As it nears 6pm Jenny heads out early, remembering to get Bonnie guitar strings. She stops by a small music store close by the Pizzeria. A bell dings as she opens the door. No one greets her, but there's a bored teenager at the cash register.

Not wanting to bother them, she goes to the part of the store for guitars. Jenny winds up stuck between choosing one she can afford or one that's actually decent. Her outstretched hand wavers between the two as she stares silently. No groceries this week and get Bonnie something nice or be a shitty person. With a quiet huff, she reaches for the more expensive strings and heads to the checkout before she can change her mind.

Once she makes it to work, shivering from the late November chill, she passes by Mike as he leaves and sees the manager waiting inside, arms crossed. Oh fuck. As always, he was wearing his all black suit and fedora. "Ah, Miss Polk, I've been waiting for you." Mr. Fazbear says. "Were you the one who cleaned the chicken animatronic?" "Y-yes, sir." Jenny says quietly. Authority figures always scare her, especially men. "Why?" he asks, but it's more of a command than a question. "Because it's my job, sir," she responds, fiddling with her nails out of habit. Her anxiety is shooting upwards with each moment. "Hmm." he says, staring at her with something unreadable in his dark eyes. Mr. Fazbear looks at Chica before continuing. "Well done." Jenny blinks, not expecting this. "Th-thank you, sir." He turns back to face her, looking her up and down as if to size her up, before turning to leave.

Just as he reaches the double doors, he pauses to look back at her. "I hope to see more of you in the future, Miss Polk." he says before exiting. Once he's out of sight, Jenny lets out a deep breath she didn't realize she had been holding. Black spots dance around the edges of her vision. She can't seem to stand straight, the room keeps moving. "Breathe, dammit," she hisses. As she begins to breathe again, the spots leave her vision. And she can see again. A surge of panic rises within her. "Oh god, not a panic attack. I have work to do." Jenny feels tears welling up in her eyes as her breathing catches in the back of her throat.

Jenny places a firm hand over her mouth. A sob forces its way out of her despite her efforts, and the tears spill over. Her back shakes with her efforts to silence her distress until she's practically vibrating. Jenny grits her teeth and angrily wipes away her tears before slapping herself across the face. "No," she says, voice wavering but cold as stone. "You are not allowed to be weak." Sniffling as she walks to the supply closet, Jenny rubs her face on the sleeve of her shirt. The tears keep coming, but she's functional. Time to get to work. Jenny begins like usual: tables, chairs, windows, floor, bathrooms, but she doesn't sing tonight. She only cries quietly, and occasionally berates herself for her weakness.

She imagines that she can feel the animatronics watching her with some sort of curiousity as she works, but she knows it to be a more predatory gaze. Once the restaurant is clean as she can get it, she goes on the stage to clean up Bonnie. Wiping away her tears, she smiles in greeting. "Hey, Bonnie. I brought you some new strings for your guitar. They're a nice set, so they should last you awhile…" Jenny looks at the ground awkwardly. "Anyway, I just wanted to let you know. I'll set them here." Jenny sets the packet on the speaker. The stage is dusty and quiet with the curtains closed, a sort of safe haven. Jenny likes it. She steps back to where Bonnie can see her.

"If you have any trouble with them, I can help out if you'd like. I know how to change guitar strings so… yeah. I hope you like them…" Jenny says, feeling idiotic. "I'm just going to get you cleaned up now, if that's alright." Bonnie can't move yet (it's not 12), but she thinks she sees him blink. She takes that as a yes and gets her stuff together and takes a deep breath. "Okay, I'm going to be cleaning your mouth so pretty please don't bite my arm off." Jenny pleads, carefully prying open his jaw.

It offers little resistance, for which Jenny murmurs a quiet thanks, and she begins to perform some basic upkeep. Oil the hinges, clean away any gunk, replace rusted screws, etc. Before long, his mouth is clean as new and Jenny gently shuts his mouth. "All better now." she assures him. "Time to clean up your fur." Jenny takes out a tire cleaner and some intense fabric cleaner. Generously applying it, she brushes off the bubbles and grime. Each stroke of her hand reveals a vivid swath of purple. She has to get on the table to clean his head, but other than that, it's quite simple.

Wiping sweat from her forehead, and accidentally leaving yet another trail of grime, she says, "There you go, Bonnie. Good as new, I hope." She checks the time and realizes she has to go. 11:51. Jenny scratches behind Bonnie's ear as she gets down from the table. "See you guys soon." Jenny says timidly, before turning to Bonnie. "Try not to get too dirty, please." She heads to her office, unconsciously stooping lower and loosing vigor. She's really starting to feel the effects of panic attack from earlier. The first creeping signs of depression return.

She sits low in the swivel chair, half convinced to not even bother fending them off tonight and just let them kill her. Why bother, anyway? It's not like anyone would miss her, right? Plus, she's not the only person in the world desperate for a job. If she got killed, there'd be a vacancy, so someone else could get some income. Someone who actually had a life worth living. Someone who's anyone but her. The city power cuts off abruptly as it does every night, plunging the room into sinister shadows created by the single florescent bulb. The alarm rings, obnoxiously loud as always.

Jenny doesn't do anything but stare blankly. Why bother? She doesn't want to do anything. Except– Jenny's mind wanders to the blade she keeps in her bra. She got it out of a pencil sharpener almost three years ago. She can feel it pressing against the side of her chest. Jenny's been clean for two months now, but she can't think of a good enough reason to stop herself this time. All of her reasons are dead. She pulls the blade out from her shirt almost lovingly, with the care one would usually give to precious breakables. It's still warm from her body heat as she turns the blade over in her hand. It's still shiny, after all these years.

Jenny can't take her eyes from it. It's calling her. In response, she rolls up her left sleeve almost robotically. All she knows is the razor. She can see where it has a bloodstain from when she cut too deep at seventeen. Time to make another one. Gingerly, almost reverently, she places the razor to her wrist. She doesn't press hard enough to puncture skin, not yet. She just waits. The moments creep by and Jenny still doesn't know what she wants. She's itching to use her blade again, just one more time. But something's stopping her from it. Frustrated with herself, Jenny scowls. Just cut or don't, dammit! A loud noise jars her from her thoughts, causing her to jump. As she spasms, the razor catches against her wrist and splits skin from the top of her wrist to mid-forearm. The pain jerks her back into reality and she drops the razor.

"Shit!" she curses, grabbing a tissue to help stop the bleeding. Not wasting any time, she checks the hall to see— nothing… There's no one there. Adrenaline pumping through her veins, she checks the cameras. Surely, there's something. But, no. Everyone's in their places. Jenny sighs and sets down the tablet, collapsing back into her chair. She puts pressure back on her bleeding arm, adding another tissue to control it. She's probably just imagining things from stress. It doesn't matter anyway. What's the worst that could happen? Dying? Jenny laughs bitterly at the thought. But the voice she hears sounds so unlike her own that it makes her pause. It's so… empty. Is that what she sounds like now?

Jenny can't help the tears that well up once more. She doesn't bother to control them as they stream down her face. When the end of shift bell rings, it finds Jenny still staring blankly at the wall. She barely moved within the last few hours, but still, none of the animatronics came for her. They're probably just fucking around with her, she decides. 'They'll kill me eventually.' she thinks. "They just want to have fun first." Numbly, she pulls down her sleeve and retrieves her blade from the floor, putting it back in place. The cold metal against her skin causes her to shiver. She heads out to the main room and waits for Jeremy to show up. The animatronics (excluding Foxy, of course) were lined up on stage as usual, ready to perform and play.

Jenny looks at them, but can't for long. It makes her throat burn for some reason. "I wish you guys wouldn't play these games with me." she admits quietly, voice echoing in the empty room. "It'd be easier for everyone if you just killed me and got it over with." No response. Not that she expected one. She sits in silence until Jeremy arrives, greeting him distantly, as always. It's no use getting attached to people when you're going to die soon, she tells herself. As she walks out into the cold morning, fog still covering the streets, she feels the cold reach into her bones.

It doesn't feel uncomfortable. It's very familiar. You learn to accept it after awhile. Jenny breathes in the crisp air that seems to embrace her. She walks towards her apartment, looking everywhere but the sky, and wishes she could feel the sun. She gets home and collapses in her old bed, only bothering to take off her shoes before falling asleep. No real reasons for her to stay awake for long. Not anymore.

Jenny wakes up with dried blood on her arm, the cut already scabbing. It's not too deep, but it went far enough in to let her feel it whenever she moves.

With a sigh, she gathers the bloodied tissues from her arm and pushes herself up into a sitting position. It's close to six, but she doesn't have enough motivation to leave yet. Her eyes are drawn to the lights of passing cars through the blinds next to he bed. The lights dance and scatter through the slits to cast fleeting patterns against the walls. It's strangely captivating to watch. Her thoughts wonder back to her shift previous. Why didn't they kill her? She didn't close the door once! Is this a strategy of theirs? Drawing it out makes it worse, maybe? She hasn't the slightest clue.

Jenny runs a hand through her hair and sighs. Doesn't matter. They'll get her in the end. It's just a matter of when. Better go make some coffee. She walks the well worn path to her kitchen. It's not really that far, considering that she only has one room as her apartment, but she's sectioned it off so that it feels like there's rooms. As she puts the pot on to brew, her eyes go back to her newest cut. The red fascinates her, captivating her vision until it's the only color she can see.

She wants to do it again. The desire for pain burns deep within, coursing through her veins. It's a desperate, needy desire, and she can't deny herself this. Before she fully realizes it, Jenny has the blade out and is beginning the first cut. She drags it horizontally across the soft skin near the crease of her elbow. It slices easily through, revealing the white of her epidermis. The pain burns beautifully. Blood begins to bead, and it wells up in the cut. Captivated, Jenny can only look. It's mesmerizing to see. The blood begins to spill over, running down her arm and dripping on the floor. Before she knows it she's made another cut. And another. And another. And another. When she's finally finished, she's panting raggedly and her arm looks like it's been through a paper shredder.

A breathy laugh escapes her mouth without warning. The sound freezes her to the core. Jenny is abruptly shoved back into reality. What has she done? Her arm stings furiously, almost accusingly. She feels a wave of guilt and shame cresting above her poised to crash down. Jenny hurriedly tries to stem the flow of blood with paper towels. The red quickly spreads through the thin material. She continues to press down with red stained fingers, pleading for the blood to stop. Shaking fingers reach for the paper towels. It's knocked from it's pedestal and falls so slowly in front of her eyes. It hits the ground with a resounding bang that shakes Jenny to her core. She feels the wave of shame bury her underneath the water.

Bitter tears rise unbidden from her eyes. Her knees hit the ground as she chokes on sobs rising uncalled from her mouth. She keeps the pressure on her arm, clutching it to her trembling chest. Self loathing clenches her heart with a bruising ferocity. Why does she always come back to this? Why is she always so weak? Jenny sobs in the center of her small kitchen, clutching her arm with bloodstained fingers. And – not for the first time – she wishes she were dead.


End file.
